


Box Dye

by SugarsweetRomantic



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Hair Dyeing, Post Isle of Sgàil, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarsweetRomantic/pseuds/SugarsweetRomantic
Summary: Diana gets some assistance.
Relationships: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood
Comments: 12
Kudos: 92





	Box Dye

Out of all the problems Diana Burnwood had expected to face while dealing with the aftermath of the recent operation on the Isle of Sgàil, needing to dye her hair had not been on the top 10 list of priorities. But here she was, on a ship in the middle of the North Sea, staring into a dirty, smudged mirror, and seeing grey roots. She really shouldn't be focusing on her appearance, she was aware of that, but Edwards was knocked out cold, and she was bored. And past thirty-five. And despite her hard-as-nails façade, she was just as insecure as any other woman.

So, on her very first visit to the mainland to get some food and medical supplies, she bought two boxes of hair dye. She considered stopping by a salon, but they would see the implantation site of her ICA vitals-tracking chip. Sure, she doubted the local hairdresser of Stornoway was Providence, but it would start rumours. They were trying to stay low; they couldn't risk it. So, supermarket-brand dye in 'deep auburn' would have to do.

Sitting in her allocated bedroom once she had returned, she was questioning every decision that had led up to this point. Diana Burnwood did not do box dye. Not now, not ever. What if she messed it up? There was no way she would be able to question Edwards about his role in Providence with her hair a disaster. 

"Need a hand?" It wasn't that she hadn't heard 47's footsteps approaching. Years of training -- or perhaps it had been more like conditioning -- meant she was always on high alert. She just hadn't expected him to offer his assistance. 

"I didn't know hairdressing was among your many talents," Diana joked quietly, without turning to face him. She couldn't face him, not now. Not while she was at her most vulnerable, in an old T-shirt and underwear, with her hair spilling down her back. Her blazers and French twists weren't just her uniform; they were her armour against the world. 

"It's not," 47 admitted. His voice was closer now. "But I'm precise, and an expert at following your instructions." She was certain he was behind her now. Turning around, she looked up at him and silently handed him the cardboard box from her lap.

Diana wasn't sure why she was surprised that 47 was incredibly gentle with her hair. The fact that he murdered on a regular basis didn't mean he was unnecessarily rough. Maybe it was that it seemed like such uncharacteristic behaviour for him to be delicately parting her hair and painting her roots. In silence, of course. If he had started an enthusiastic conversation right now, she would have dragged him to an emergency room. 

47 parted her hair into four quadrants per her instructions, and carefully began applying the dye to her roots, layer by layer. It was almost relaxing, with the rhythmic sway of the waves gently rocking the ship while he worked. Diana took the rare opportunity to let her mind wander. Grey was talking to Olivia and Edwards was cuffed in a locked room. Even if something were to happen, 47's heightened senses would pick up on it long before she did. She thinks of James, of how she really needs to stop by his grave soon; of Victoria -- now in college like any other girl her age. She thinks of all the work they've done and all the work they've yet to do. She thinks of life, death, and a God. And through it all, she thinks of 47. 

His hand appeared into her view, tinted by the dye. Silently, he handed her a tissue. Had she been crying? Raising her fingers to her cheekbones, she realised that they are indeed wet. 

"It's time to rinse it out," 47 commented in a quieter voice than Diana had ever heard him use. Suddenly, the idea of having to get up and stand under the spray of the shower by herself terrified her. 

"Would you…" she began, unsure of how to finish. 

"I'll guard the door," he filled in for her.

"Thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first ever fic(let) I've written for Hitman -- though I've written for other fandoms before. I'd love to hear what you thought; thank you for reading!


End file.
